Profession

The elevator

 I had never truly appreciated how tall seven stories were. Each niche for hands and feet were about ten inches apart, about a foot long and four inches deep; the concrete was textured. This helped to keep hands and feet from slipping, but after I'd crept up two stories, my gloves were shredded. After three stories, I took a break in a niche for some water and to give my arms, legs, and hands a break. My fingers were getting raw, but I didn't have any bandages with me. At least the cold helped to control the pain. My white coat was made from the cut resistant fabric that was prevalent throughout the asylum, in case a patient managed to get one off a staff member, so I couldn't even cut that up. Four more stories, I told myself. Then there was a little bit more, and I'd be up at the vents and could get out. It wasn't that far at all, and I planned one more break. I ate another granola bar, both for the energy and as a slight delaying tactic, and stretched before going back out into the shaft. I kept my eyes just slightly up, looking for the next handhold, and inched up.

I had just passed the next floor when I encountered a problem; the concrete was damaged, a section of a couple yards long, encompassing most of the handholds in that section. I cursed vividly in my head; I didn't want to risk the concrete crumbling under my fingers. I had to climb down some--practically broke my heart at the negative progress and made my hands sweat to see how far up I was--to reach the ledge that ran around the shaft at every floor. Creeping along it was fairly terrifying; the ledge was narrow, about six inches wide, and I had to press myself against the concrete as I inched along. It was so nerve wracking and took so long that I was nearly crying when I reached the other side. There was a gap where the handholds indented, so I stopped and looked at the concrete. The handholds here were in much better shape, and I started back up. I had just passed the next floor when I heard the elevator come to life. I climbed faster as I heard the door close and started praying to any and all gods who might be listening to help me get the last five feet to a niche before the car scraped me off the side of the shaft.

I flung myself into the niche with not a moment to spare; in fact, the top of the car clipped my heel and made me stumble farther into the niche. I hit the wall and slid down, panting for breath. The car stopped, covering the top half of my niche as the doors opened at the next floor. I felt like howling and crying; there wasn't any room to go around the car. I was stuck here until the car moved, whenever that would be.

I got a grip on myself, though; I didn't want to make any noise in case I could be heard inside the elevator. I breathed deeply and drank some water. The car did block a lot of the wind, but it was still cold; I could see my breath. I tried to get a signal on my communicator again, but no joy. My heel felt really bruised but not broken, good. My fingers were bleeding now, my shoulders and upper back aching, my toes cramped. I stretched as much as I could, and gave myself a stern talking to. Lys Wayne wasn't a quitter. This was a temporary setback, and the enforced break would let some of the lactic acid in my muscles clear out. I just needed to be a little patient. I was getting out of here. I didn't know if Bob could jump all the way in one go, but there were three levels that it could use to get up. Every floor was about fourteen feet high due to the thickness of the floors and ceilings. One of the later additions off the rear of the building for the new kitchens was two stories high, so twenty-eight feet there, followed by another at the fifth story that provided window offices for the doctors, so that was seventy feet, then at the eight story, there was a smaller level that had been bumped out to provide extra storage and conference rooms, so that was.. a hundred twelve feet, total. Then fifty-six more feet, which I knew Bob could do. Yes. This was doable. 

A noise from the car made me look up. The propulsion engaged after the doors closed, and it zipped down. I blew out a breath and swung out into the shaft again, climbing carefully, doing my best to ignore my aches and pains. Keeping my eyes on the prize, that next handhold. Slowly and carefully, I climbed, registering each ledge as I passed, noting the niches that I passed as progress. I took my final break at the niche between the eleventh and twelfth floors. I drank the rest of the water, flicked a little jagged bit of concrete out of my finger, and stretched a bit. I had fifteen feet left to climb, then I had to stop and get through those vents. I couldn't tell from here how they were fastened on, which was troublesome, but I wasn't going to stop now. I paused to consider the power panel in this niche. Nothing was labeled, and after a little internal debate, I decided against turning things off. I didn't know what was going on anywhere, and turning off the power could mean that the air wouldn't circulate, the locks on the cells might disengage, I could be putting the staff and patients at risk. I activated the Bob fob, wiped my hands on my thighs and moved out into the shaft for the last time.